


there are days (that are better with you)

by DrewWrites



Series: Marvel One-Shots [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 15:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrewWrites/pseuds/DrewWrites
Summary: Sometimes, Tony wakes up to empty static in his head.





	there are days (that are better with you)

There are days.

There are days where he can’t get out of bed. He locks down his entire floor, locks down his bedroom, and spends the day sleeping or staring at the wall. He tosses and turns and doesn’t get up even though his arc reactor is making his chest throb. All he feels is the weight of static thoughts pulling him down through his mattress and into the ground. When he pulls himself to his kitchen at 10pm or 2am, there’s already a meal on the counter, and Tony doesn’t smile, but he can feel the static clearing.

There are days where he meets the world blow for blow. He meets every obstacle with quick thinking and resilience. He doesn’t let the board members talk over him, his mind bubbles over with new ideas, his press smile is a little more real. He feels okay in his skin, he joins everyone on the communal floor for movie night. Fond smiles are waiting for him on the couch, and he allows himself to bask in them.

There are days where he spits insults at everyone. Every sound feels like it’s too much, and his skin is shriveling up at every touch. The only thing he feels is boiling frustration and simmering guilt. He keeps everyone away from him with loud rock music and snarling insults, and he fights off the concerned stare of a certain blond with flippant responses. His shadow doesn’t leave him alone until he successfully destroys a couple of failed projects and slumps against his chair. The man who has been waiting on his couch helps him to bed without complaint.

There are days where he only works on projects. His brain constantly races and bounces and jumps, and sometimes it gets so stuck on one project that he can only sit in his workshop and create until he’s done, and then he thinks of an improvement or another idea or he sees his to-do list, and he’s working for hours. He begins to notice the cotton filling his head, and suddenly strong arms are gently turning him away from work and convincing him to take a break.

There are days where he can’t work on anything. His brain is full of so many ideas, so many things he needs to get done, that he can’t seem to get any of it started. He’s reminded of his board meeting twice, his prototype he needs to get done three times, and the gala at the end of the week five times. Someone asks him to take a look at an appliance in the kitchen and he nearly loses it. A steady voice slowly eases him into getting dressed, and guides him into collecting his stuff, and he’s suddenly on the way to a board meeting.

And sometimes?

Sometimes there are just days.

He floats through the morning. Barely registers the clothes he’s peeling on, doesn’t notice his hair in the mirror, can’t hear anyone ask him how his morning is, but feels his mouth moving to respond.

His brain is painfully silent.

He autopilots through meetings. A fake smile curling his face upwards. Hands moving on memory.

He won’t remember how he got back to the tower, onto the couch, under blankets, in front of the TV.

He won’t register any dialogue or action on the screen.

The thuds on footsteps set off a distant bell in his head, but he can’t seem to find the right command to give his brain to move his legs.

Steve crouches in front of him, eyes level with his.

He’s asking something. Tony blinks once and tries to decipher the sounds. It sounds like “are you okay?”

Tony registers somewhere that he should say he’s perfectly fine. He sound nod his head and say he had an early morning.

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk because everything seems so fragile, so far away and unreal.

Steve gets up and shifts Tony’s head so he can lay it in his lap. Tony blinks up at him, and there’s a hand running through his hair. His muscles relax, he didn’t even realize he was tense. 

The numbness dissipates in time with Steve’s hand through his hair, and he starts to feel real again.

They sit there for an amount of time that Tony is unsure of before he finally speaks.

“Hey Cap,” he says, and his voice doesn’t break anything, only comes out a bit creaky. Steve smiles down at him and stills his hand in Tony’s hair.

“Hey Shellhead,” Steve replies. Somehow, a smile and a familiar nickname manage to bring Tony the rest of the way out of his haze. Well, not just any smile, and not just any nickname, but Tony can’t be bothered to deal with his feelings for a certain blond at the moment.

It’s quiet for a few more seconds as Tony feels his brain slowly fills with ideas and thoughts and feelings again.

“Are you hungry?” Steve asks. Tony’s stomach growls in response, and Steve begins to get up off the couch with a slight chuckle, but Tony stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Steve?” Tony says, softer than before. Steve immediately stops, concern fluttering across his face.

“Thank you,” Tony whispers. Steve pulls his wrist from Tony’s grip, only to grab Tony’s hand with his own.

“Always,” he whispers back.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I've had such a block with my writing recently. I'm trying to just get some stuff out there, but it doesn't feel up to par? Let me know how this one measures up cause I feel like I can't judge my own writing anymore. 
> 
> tumblr: andrew-writes-things


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